The night air was surprisingly cold, considering how hot it was in the wasteland during the day. Lorkin pulled on the reins, yet again discouraging the hardy little mount he was riding from trying to catch up with the horse in front. She tossed her head in protest, and he heard the water sloshing about in the barrels lashed to her side.
They’d been riding since dusk the day before. The Traitors’ fake Ashaki had taken Lorkin to the edge of the wasteland in his carriage and left him with two male slaves from a nearby estate. The slaves had told Lorkin that they could only take him as far as the hills, where a group of Traitors would meet them. Though they had a spare horse to help carry water and food, they couldn’t carry enough to last them to the mountains and back without raising suspicion.
Looking over his shoulder to the east, Lorkin saw that the sky was beginning to brighten. He hadn’t slept in more than a day, and during the previous two nights he’d had to curl up on a cramped carriage seat. Though he could ease the weariness with Healing magic, the constant travel and fear of discovery was exhausting. Just to sit still for a while would have been welcome, but he doubted he’d be enjoying that for some time.
The hope that Tyvara would be among the Traitors waiting for him gave him a boost of energy every time he thought of her, which he did whenever weariness had him sagging in the saddle. Thought of her warm smile, the sound of her voice, the touch of her bare skin. Soon, he told himself.
He was going to be very disappointed if she wasn’t among them, but not surprised. Tyvara had been forbidden to leave the city for three years, as punishment for killing Riva. But at least she’s safe there, and if she isn’t with them the thought of her will sustain me until I do see her again, he reasoned.
The sound of teeth snapping brought his attention back to his mount again. He saw that she had crept close enough to the horse in front to attempt another bite, and quickly hauled on the reins. Mad, spiteful little beast, he thought, muttering a curse. I’m glad she doesn’t try this on humans.
Though she obediently slowed, the horse in front followed suit. Lorkin opened his mouth to warn the slave, then closed it again as the man gestured for silence. They came to a halt. Even Lorkin’s mount stilled and pricked up her ears.
Lorkin could hear nothing, but one of the slaves slid off his horse and ran up the side of a nearby dune. After crouching for a short time, a dark shape against the paler sand, he hurried back to them.
“A group of eight,” he murmured.
The other slave nodded, then turned to Lorkin. “Probably Traitors. Ichani travel alone, with only a few slaves.”
Lorkin nodded. His heart was racing. He began to dismount, but the slave frowned and shook his head. “Stay put. Just in case we’re wrong.”
The other slave mounted his horse again. They moved into the long, low shadow of a dune, which only half concealed them, but with the brightening sky behind them they would be a little harder to make out.
What if it is an Ichani? Lorkin felt the night’s chill seep into his clothing. What if it is more than one? We can run, but would we get far? Could I stop their attempts to hold us with magic for long enough to escape? I doubt much of Tyvara’s magic is left, and even if I had it all I couldn’t beat several Ichani.
Figures appeared in the valley between the dunes ahead. The glow of the sky had grown warmer, and now bathed the newcomers with gold. Though all wore trousers and tunics, it was easy to distinguish woman from man. Each wore a belt over their tunic, and on each belt was a sheath. Unlike the Ashaki’s blades, the knife handles were undecorated and the sheaths were straight, not curved. As Lorkin recognised the lead figure, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Savara.
She strode toward them, unhurried but purposeful. Looking past her, Lorkin searched for the face he most wanted to see, his pulse speeding even as he braced himself for disappointment. When his eyes found hers, he thought he must be mistaken. Then she smiled, and he felt his heart leap, and an intense longing to draw her into his arms and feel her body against his. He dismounted, as did the slaves, but forced himself to stay still and face the Traitors’ new queen.
“Gal. Tika. Right where you were supposed to be,” Savara said, smiling as she reached the slaves. She turned to Lorkin. “It is good to see you again, Lord Lorkin. We were worried we might have to break into the palace to get you. We haven’t had to do that in centuries.”
Placing a hand on his heart, he waited. She smiled sadly, then nodded.
“It is good to see you, too, your majesty” he told her. Still unsure of Traitor protocol when a monarch had died, he decided to err on the side of speaking plainly. “I was saddened to hear of Queen Zarala’s passing, but glad to hear of your election.”
She looked down. “She will be remembered.” Her lips pressed together, then she turned to the slaves. As she thanked them, Lorkin looked at Tyvara again and drank in the sight of her, resisting a wave of impatience. It feels like months since I last saw her.
The slaves mounted their horses again, one taking the reins of Lorkin’s horse, and set off toward the east. They disappeared around a dune, toward an orange sun that hinted at the coming daytime onslaught of heat.
“Now, we must travel as quickly as we can manage,” Savara said, turning back to the group and ushering him toward them with an outstretched arm. “Your mother awaits us in the mountains.”
He felt a twinge of apprehension and eagerness, but forgot both as Tyvara stepped forward to meet him. She was smiling broadly.
“I’m so relieved the king let you go. Savara said the king wouldn’t dare harm you, but that didn’t stop me worrying.” She took his hands. Stepping close, she kissed him quickly, but pulled away when he tried to draw her closer, her eyes flickering to the others and giving him a warning look that plainly said “not now”. He felt a petulant disappointment, but put it aside. She was here. That was enough for now.
“I’m not the only one who’s been let out,” he said.
She shrugged. “I have more important things to do than running the sewer. And I’m sure the punishment will resume once we’re done.”
As one the group turned and started in the direction they had come. Someone passed Lorkin a pack, murmuring that he’d find a water bottle inside. He shouldered it and looked across at Tyvara. She was frowning at him.
“What is it?”
She lowered her voice. “Was it bad, in the king’s prison?”
His stomach lurched at the question. Suddenly the lightness in his heart was gone, and weariness returned. He looked away.
“It wasn’t fun,” he replied, shrugging. Should I tell her about the slave girl? What will she think of me, for helping the girl die? Maybe if the girl hadn’t been a Traitor… no, I don’t think that would make much difference. Still, Tyvara must have had to make some difficult choices as a spy. He drew in a deep breath. “You must have been through worse, as a slave.”
She said nothing. He made himself look up at her. She met his gaze reluctantly, then her eyes dropped to the ground.
“Would that be a problem for you, if I had?” she asked.
It was an odd way to phrase her answer, but as her meaning came to him he felt both dismay and affection.
“No,” he said. “I’m… I know what… what pretending to be a slave would have involved. It’s not like you had a choice.”
“But I did have a choice — whether to be a spy or not.”
“For the good of your people. And to help others.” Whereas there was nothing noble about me helping the slave girl die. And yet he hadn’t chosen to be put in that situation.
“Enough talking,” Savara said, glancing back at Lorkin and Tyvara. “The Ichani were far away last time we checked, but they can be unpredictable. We should travel in silence.”
Tyvara frowned and bit her lip. As they strode onward, she glanced at him from time to time. On each occasion, he only caught sight of her expression briefly, since her back was to the rising sun. Clearly she wanted to say something to him. Frustrated by the necessity for silence, he concentrated until he could detect her presence. He imagined he could hear her thoughts like a buzz at the edge of his senses, not quite loud or clear enough to be audible.
Finally he could not stand it any more. He moved closer and grabbed her hand.
— What is it? What is bothering you?
She looked surprised, then smiled and squeezed his hand.
— You know where we’re going?
— To the mountains. To meet my mother. I’m assuming to discuss trade or an alliance.
— Yes.
She looked at him questioningly, and he heard, somehow, faint words that she perhaps hadn’t intended to send to him.
What will he do then?
He frowned. He’d been putting off asking himself the same question. What would he do once negotiations were over? Go back to Kyralia with his mother? Stay in Sachaka with Tyvara? The answer was even more important if the negotiations failed to bring about any kind of agreement between the Allied Lands and the Traitors.
The Guild would want him to come home. His mother would want him to come home. But that might mean he’d never see Tyvara again.
What does he want? came Tyvara’s badly hidden thought.
— I want to be with you, he told her.
She blinked in surprise and turned to stare at him. He sensed puzzlement, and a little embarrassment. Her grip loosened as if she was about to pull away. Then it tightened again,
— Will the Guild let you stay with us?
— They won’t like it, but they’ll have to accept it.
She nodded and looked way, pulling her hand free. He focused closely on her, trying to judge her expression, and heard words at the very edge of his senses again.
He’ll change his mind once he knows we’re about to go to war.
Lorkin felt his muscles go rigid with shock and nearly stumbled. He shook his head. He must have imagined it. It was not possible to hear someone else’s thoughts without touching them. Unless that person had deliberately sent them. Looking around, he saw that none of the other Traitors looked alarmed or were watching him, as they would have been if they’d known Tyvara had revealed their plans to him.
No. I must have imagined it. After all, he’d seen hints in Sanctuary that the Traitors might be planning to attack the Ashaki. His mind was merely pointing out, in an unexpected way, that war would make his choice much more difficult. Tyvara had to be wondering if he wanted to avoid being caught up in a war. Of course I would. People die in wars. Tyvara might die. Unless… could I find a reason to take her to Kyralia with me? Perhaps I could persuade Savara that the Allied Lands need a Traitor Ambassador. But would Tyvara go? I doubt it.
So now he had to decide whether he’d stay with Tyvara or go to Kyralia and pass on stone-making knowledge, how to tell his mother that he’d learned black magic, whether to tell Tyvara about the poisoned slave girl, and what he’d do if the Traitors went to war. Fortunately he had hours of trudging through the wasteland to the mountains ahead of him. Plenty of time to think.
Though it was still early spring, buds on the trees within the Guild gardens were already bursting open and the scent hinted at warmer days to come. Lilia breathed it in, enjoying a brief moment of peace and promise. She was alive, not in prison, accepted by the Guild, and Cery, Gol and Anyi were still safe and undiscovered.
Of course, the moment could not last long. Her friends were not all that safe, the Guild’s acceptance of her involved conditions that would restrict her for the rest of her life, and she was heading for another lesson with Black Magician Kallen. But her mood soured sooner than usual as she saw a trio of novices standing outside the Novice’s Quarters, watching her. One was Bokkin.
She spared them the briefest of glances, but though she kept her gaze on the path ahead she paid attention to their shadows in the corner of her eye. For good measure, she threw up a weak shield against any pranks.
Nothing happened, though she was so alert for trouble that she didn’t notice, at first, that no other novices were waiting with Kallen by the Arena. He always wore the same slightly distracted frown, yet it was a little deeper than usual. And his gaze was a little more alert.
“Black Magician Kallen,” she said, bowing as she reached him.
“Lady Lilia,” Kallen said. “Today’s lesson will be held within the University.”
Her heart skipped a beat and she had to smother the urge to cheer.
“So… no fighting practice today?”
“No.”
He indicated that she should walk beside him and started toward the University. Bokkin, she saw with relief, was gone. She considered whether to ask Kallen what she’d be learning, but experience had taught her that if he didn’t offer information she was not likely to get useful answers. Once they were inside, she heard him draw in a deep breath, then sigh. Sneaking a quick glance, she noted that his mouth was pressed into a thin line.
He’s not happy about something, she thought. Well, more unhappy than he usually is, anyway.
He led her through to the inner passages of the building and into one of the small rooms reserved for private lessons. Indicating she should take one of the two chairs, he sat on the other and regarded her across the sole table.
“The Guild has decided it is time you learned to use black magic.”
She felt a jolt of fear and guilt, but they quickly faded into amusement. “But I already know how to use black magic.”
“You know how it is used,” he corrected. “Aside from your single experiment, you have not consciously and deliberately used it, and you’ve never needed to store power. There are also other tasks that black magicians are required to perform that do not involve the acquisition of magic.”
“Like?”
“Reading minds. Making blood rings.”
Lilia’s heartbeat quickened. She had assumed she wouldn’t be taught either skill until she had graduated and taken up the official role of black magician.
“Why now?”
Kallen’s brows lowered still further. “While Sonea is absent, many would rather that you were taught to use black magic than we have only one fully trained black magician in Imardin.”
No wonder he’s grumpy. The implication of that is that he needs watching. That he can’t be trusted. She felt a small surge of triumph that he experienced the same suspicion and distrust that she did. Though people distrust me because I broke a rule when I learned black magic, even though I thought I couldn’t succeed. But I suppose they distrust Kallen because he’s a roet addict. She felt triumph fade. It was replaced with sympathy. And he probably didn’t think that could happen, either.
She nodded. “So… what first?”
He straightened and took something from within his robe. Light reflected from the polished surface of a small, slim knife. Kallen lifted his other hand so that the sleeve fell back, then placed his arm on the table. He looked at her.
“I will cut myself. Place your hand over the wound and try to recall what you did to… Take enough that you can sense your own strength has increased.”
To Naki, Lilia finished. She pushed away a memory of a library, and the words that had seduced her into learning what was forbidden. “ I’d do anything for you.” Kallen ran the blade across the back of his arm. She obediently placed her palm over the shallow cut, and closed her eyes.
The trick was to see that my own magic is contained within my skin, she remembered. The awareness came back to her slowly, but once her mind recalled it the sense of magic within her body was suddenly clear. She paused to marvel a little at it, but the call of an otherness nearby drew her attention. Shifting her focus to her hand, she detected Kallen’s presence and saw the gap in his defences.
She hesitated. To draw magic from Kallen, whom she had half feared most of her life and who was one of the Higher Magicians, seemed presumptuous. But he’d told her to, so she gathered her will and drew.
Magic flooded into her body. Immediately she slowed the pull. He would be able to sense it, she guessed, and know if she was overdoing it. He’d said to take magic until she could feel it had added to her own strength. Concentrating, she realised that she was already aware of being stronger. Halting the draw of power, she opened her eyes and withdrew her hand.
Kallen stared at her intently. “Take more.”
This time she was immediately aware of the break in his barrier, and she found that she didn’t need to sense the containment of her own power to do so. She forgot to close her eyes and realised she didn’t need to. Kallen’s face had gone strangely slack, she noted. He looked sad and tired.
When she stopped, expression returned to his face. He looked at her again, and this time he nodded.
“Good. I can sense that you are storing power now.” His lips thinned in grim approval. “Whenever we hold more power than we naturally possess, a little of it escapes our barrier. Focus on the natural containment at your skin until you sense this leakage, then send a little magic to reinforce your barrier.”
This time she did close her eyes. Drawing her attention within, she noted that she could feel that her power was enhanced. She concentrated on the barrier at her skin, which was the border of her control. Sure enough, magic was seeping through it, more in some places than others.
Exerting her will, she tapped a little of her magic and sent a steady trickle of it to thicken and harden the barrier. At once the leakage stopped.
Kallen nodded when she opened her eyes.
“I can’t sense it any more.” He almost smiled. “Now, it is also possible for another magician to sense the taking of magic. This is a similar problem of leakage, but it happens at the site of the wound. You need to extend your barrier a little to overlap that of the, ah, donor of magic.”
Following his instructions, Lilia managed to succeed in this lesson after a few attempts. After that, Kallen had her attempt to take magic so slowly that he barely noticed, then as quickly as she could. He was able, haltingly, to speak to her during the first, but obviously had trouble staying upright during the second.
“You should experience the weakening effect of being drained,” he told her. “Black Magician Sonea was not careful enough to avoid being cut during one fight with the Ichani because she hadn’t appreciated how disabling it was to be subjected to black magic. It is something you certainly don’t want to experience again, once you’ve felt it.” He waved a hand. “But it can wait until another lesson.”
“I remember something like that, from when Naki tried it on me,” Lilia told him. “She said it didn’t work, but I think she was lying.”
Kallen’s expression darkened, but then his lips thinned in sympathy. “In descriptions of the higher-magic rite between magicians and apprentices of old, the apprentices would kneel before their masters. They must have been able to remain upright. Perhaps the apprentices grew immune to the weakening effect.”
“Or the masters knew how to draw power without it affecting them.”
He nodded. “We could experiment, if you are willing. There is much about black magic we don’t understand, and I fear that our counterparts in Sachaka could use that against us.”
Lilia smothered a shudder of reluctance. Though experimenting with black magic with Kallen didn’t sound like much fun, she had to agree that the Guild couldn’t allow any holes in its knowledge of magic to remain unexplored.
Kallen ran a hand over the cut, which had now closed to a pink line. “Of course, you’ll only have to acquire magic this way from non-magicians or an enemy magician. Normal transferral of power can be done without cutting the skin. The weakening effect is also an advantage in battle. I can’t see many situations where taking power forcibly while avoiding the weakening effect will be of much use.”
“Perhaps… if you have to take power from an old magician who is dying but for some reason — perhaps they’re unconscious or senile — they can’t will their power to you.”
Kallen grimaced. “Yes. It would be kinder if they didn’t have to experience the weakening.”
She looked at the knife. “What do you do if you don’t have a knife? Could you use magic to make the cut?”
He shook his head. “Even if a magician is too weak to shield, so long as they are alive they still contain some energy and a barrier at their skin. At its most basic, that barrier is a shield against another’s will and must be broken.”
“But if you shaped magic into a sliver of force and send it out from yourself like a strike, overcoming the barrier, would it work?”
His eyebrows rose. “Perhaps. I guess if a strike is strong enough
…” He frowned. “It would be difficult to test. The subject would have to be willing to be harmed, perhaps quite badly… though if you first gained some skill in forming a small, stabbing strike that only penetrated a tiny distance it would be no worse than a small cut.” His eyes narrowed in thought, then he looked at her appraisingly. “It is an interesting idea. We should explore it.”
She nodded, before the idea of letting him stab her could overcome her satisfaction at thinking of something that hadn’t occurred to him before.
“Well… that will do for today,” he said. “Tomorrow I will begin your training in mind-reading. We will need a volunteer for you to practise on. Once you have satisfactorily achieved that skill, I’ll teach you how to make a blood gem.”
A blood gem! Lilia resisted a smile, not wanting to seem too eager to learn more about what had once been forbidden magic. She rose as Kallen stood up and followed him to the door.
“Should I meet you here?” she asked.
He nodded, then gestured to the corridor. “Yes. Until tomorrow, then.”
She bowed and set off toward the outer rooms of the University, and her next class, unable to help feeling a thrill of excitement.
For the first time, knowing black magic doesn’t feel like a… a punishment — or a disease. The Guild wants me to learn it. And it’s actually interesting.
As the morning sun rose higher and brighter, the colours of the wasteland began to bleach away. Sonea clasped her hands together around her knees, wistfully remembering how she had once been able to hug her knees to her chest. It had been a long time since she’d been that flexible. Life as a magician — and wearing full robes — tended to demand more dignified sitting. It was little losses like these that told her she was getting older.
Regin rose and moved to their packs, which were looking somewhat emptier than they’d been two evening ago when they’d arrived at the Traitors’ meeting place.
I followed the instructions strictly, she told herself. They’d made perfect sense. Regin agrees with me. We must be where we’re supposed to be.
And yet, no Traitors had appeared.
She looked to the right, where the mountains curved away to the south-east. When she and Akkarin had entered Sachaka twenty years before, they’d travelled that way. Across the slopes of the mountains with no supplies, no home and with Ichani hunting them. This time she and Regin had travelled northwest, still across the harsh mountainside, but with plenty of food, no Ichani to worry about and a Guild waiting to welcome them home.
Amazing the difference some basic necessities and not fearing for your life can make.
Still, the wasteland was a harsh place. Below, the rocky slopes plunged into dunes stretching off toward the horizon. The first day they’d waited here, they’d watched a sandstorm move across the land to the north, obscuring all in its path. They’d been worried that they would have to endure the storm, but it died out when it hit the northern mountains. Turning to the left, Sonea considered the peaks extending into the distance, each crouching behind the other, growing paler the further away they were.
Somewhere beyond them lies Sanctuary, the Traitors’ home. From what Lorkin says, they were much kinder captors than King Amakira.
Not that anybody had described what Lorkin’s imprisonment in the palace had been like. She was almost glad that she had not been able to read his mind through her blood gem. She swung from wanting to know to thinking perhaps it would be better if she never did. If he’d suffered, she was not sure what she would feel or want to do, but she was sure neither would be good.
He’s free now. Free and alive. I must take care that nothing I do changes that.
“Sonea.”
She dragged her eyes away from the view and turned to regard Regin. “Yes?”
He gestured to the bags. “Should we keep rationing?”
She nodded. He was asking more than that, she knew. He was asking if they would stay here or give up and return to the Fort soon. We could hunt for food, like Akkarin and I did. Memories rose of a meal gathered, cooked and eaten in a little hidden valley. She smiled as she remembered what else had happened in that place.
“At least we have plenty of water,” Regin said, turning to look at the spring. “And it’s clean now.”
She followed his gaze. The trickle of water seeped through a crack in the rocky ground and gathered in a small, smooth pool before brimming over into a tiny stream. The water had obviously been attracting animals. When they’d arrived they’d had to wash away accumulated bird droppings. The stream did not continue for long, swallowed up by a crevasse in the rocky ground.
If we hide, maybe birds will come to drink. We can catch and eat them.
Standing up, she walked to the pool and regarded it. Clearly the wasteland had some water, but even here, right by the spring, there was no life. She crouched beside it and dipped her hand in the pool. Concentrating, she sought the scattered sense of energy within water that came from ever-present tiny life forms in it.
Nothing.
She frowned. When they’d arrived she’d checked if the water was safe to drink. Despite the bird droppings, the water had been pure. Which was… odd.
Perhaps a Traitor came by just before we arrived and drew all the energy out. The smaller and less sophisticated a living thing was, the weaker the natural barrier against magical interference. Even trees could be drained of magic without their bark being cut, though the magic came slowly and there was never as much as in an animal or person.
Killing the little life forms makes the existing water safe to drink, but the fresh water should quickly add more tiny life forms. She reached up to the trickle that fed the pool. Cupping her hand to collect some water, she concentrated again.
There. Like tiny pinpoints of light.
She let the gathered water drop into the pool. There could be only one explanation. Something was killing off all life once it entered the pool.
Her stomach clenched in sudden apprehension. Was the pool poisoned? They had been drinking from it for a few days. What could kill off small life forms instantly but not affect people?
The bowl was smooth. It could have been shaped by time or man or magic. Reaching into the water again, she ran her hand slowly over the surface of the stone. She did not expect to sense anything. Detecting a poison within a body was more a matter of detecting its effect. Her fingers encountered a bump in the surface. She explored it with her fingertips, then sent her mind out.
Something tugged at her senses. She drew a little magic and let it seep from her fingers. It was drawn away immediately.
Her blood went cold.
Sitting up, she stared at the little bump in the bowl’s otherwise smooth surface. It is not a part of the rock. If it does what I think it does, it has been placed there to clean the water. But if it does what I think it does…
“Regin.”
She felt the coolness of his shadow on her back.
“Yes?”
“Could you get me a knife or something good for gouging?”
“Why not use magic? Oh… of course. You won’t want to use it up.”
He moved to the packs. While he was busy, she drew magic and used it to channel the trickle of water away from the pool. Then she emptied the pool with a sweep of force. The surface began to dry immediately and by the time Regin returned the bump was visible as a darker patch in the stone.
He held out a silver pen.
“Is that all we have?”
“I’m afraid so. Nobody expects magicians to need knives.”
Sonea sighed as she took the pen. “I suppose we asked for supplies to last a few days, not a picnic. Let’s hope this works.”
She began to dig around the bump with the tapered end of the pen. To her relief, whatever was keeping it in place was softer than stone — more like wax. Soon she had gouged out a channel around it. She wedged her fingertips around the bump and pulled. It would not budge, so she got to work again.
“Can I ask what you’re doing?”
“Yes.”
The lump shifted and Sonea tried to pull it free in vain. Gritting her teeth, she returned to digging waxy lumps from the pool.
“So. What are you doing?”
“Digging out this thing.”
“I can see that.” He sounded more amused than annoyed. “Why?”
The pen wasn’t narrow enough to fit between the hard bump and the edges of the hole it was crammed into. She seized it with her fingertips again. “It’s… strange… ah!” The bump — now a stone — came free. She held it up into the light, working the remains of wax off the surface.
Regin bent over to look at it. “Is it a crystal?”
She nodded. Smooth, flat areas reflected the sunlight. “A natural one. Though by that I only mean uncut.”
“And otherwise unnatural?” Regin looked down at the hole it had come out of. “What sort of gemstone is it?”
“Gemstone!” Sonea exclaimed. She sucked in a breath and looked up at Regin, then climbed to her feet. “One of the Traitors’ magical gemstones, most likely. I doubt the Duna come this far south, and if the Ichani know about them they’d have used them on us twenty years ago.” She considered the way it had drawn in her magic, and her blood went cold again. She looked at Regin and held back the words. Could she tell him her suspicions? What if his mind was read? What if he told somebody? What if…?
When — if — the Traitors arrived, she would need to have already considered all the implications of her discovery. She might not need to tell Regin, to seek his opinion, but she wanted to.
Regin was staring back at her, bemused and worried. She drew in a deep breath.
“It is, I suspect, a black magic gemstone,” she said, keeping her voice low in case someone, somehow, was watching and listening to them.
He drew in a sharp breath and stared at her in horror. Then he looked down at the stone and his eyes narrowed.
“So that’s why the wasteland never recovered.”
She shivered despite the growing heat and looked around them. It makes sense. If they can make one stone like this they can make hundreds. Thousands. Strewn across the land, they must slowly but relentlessly suck away life. The soil becomes too infertile for plants. Larger, more sophisticated living things like animals starve or move away.
Which meant the Traitors had been deliberately keeping the wasteland a wasteland.
For centuries.
“All this time it was thought the Guild created this to keep Sachaka weak. Instead it was the Traitors.”
Regin frowned. “Well… we can’t be sure of that. They may have just put the stone here to keep the water clean.”
She looked up at him. “I reckon I could find more stones, if any are about.”
His gaze sharpened. “Give it a try.”
Handing him the stone, which he took gingerly, she walked a few steps away and looked at the ground sloping downward toward the dunes. She closed her eyes and expanded the natural barrier around her skin until it was a globe. Where it overlapped with the rock beneath her feet, she weakened it so that magic began to seep out. Then she began to walk forward slowly.
She had only taken fifty or so paces when she felt the faintest pull. It was an illusion — the sense of no resistance where everywhere else there was one. Stopping, she turned and, after losing the sense a few times, managed to narrow down the area the pull was coming from to a few paces in diameter: a stone-filled crack between two sheets of stone.
Regin joined her as she poked around inside the crack. She began sweeping her barrier down the length of the gap, but before she had gone far Regin gave a little crow of triumph and held something up.
Another dark, glossy crystal. Taking it from him she tested it. The magic she sent toward it was drawn into the stone.
“Twice is coincidence,” Regin said. “Thrice is…”
Nodding, she set off in another direction. This time she found a stone easily, buried in a sand-filled depression. All in sheltered positions where water might collect or flow through. Nooks and cracks where life might take root. They returned to the meeting place. She had undone her diversion of the spring, and the pool was full again. Dipping her hand in the water, she confirmed that it was now full of tiny specks of energy.
She looked up at Regin.
“Osen needs to know about this.”
He smiled crookedly. “Oh, he most certainly does.”
And Lorkin, she thought. Though he may know already. Ah. If he’s not supposed to know, I may endanger his life by telling him. It may not be wise to let the Traitors know we’ve discovered their dirty little secret, either.
Still, once the Guild knew, the Traitors would gain nothing from killing her and Regin. Taking Osen’s ring from her pocket, she sat down, leaned against a boulder and slipped it on her finger.
— Osen.
— Sonea!
— Do you have a moment? You won’t want to believe what I’ve just discovered.